DECEMBER 18, 2027-

The glee in her eyes made him want to flee. There was too much power here. It was nearly unrestrained, undisciplined. He steeled himself against her.

No. He would not yield. The shine of her eyes was too much. That kind of power was dangerous.

And the Slayer was here. He felt her. He was a fool to stay.

Yet, something about her, and the power that seemed to strum the air around her, made him unable to look away.

“Who are you?” Oscar asked in a whisper.

The shine grew brighter as her eyes widened. She hadn’t expected his question. “Me?” she asked, “I’m Willow. But, you’re not here because of me,” her eyes drifted up and she sighed, “I mean, you are, but…It’s a long story.” Her mouth formed a grim line. She was scowling, and for someone so young, she looked very old. “You’re from Drusilla’s line, right?”

Oscar was taken aback, “How did…? You know what I am?”

The redheaded witch nodded, “I do. And, we need your help,” she looked over her shoulder at someone within the cottage, “Buffy…?” she sighed.

Oscar took an involuntary step back. He knew that name. There was no vampire, no demon, who did not know that name. * The Slayer. The genocidal maniac who’s nearly wiped out my kind, and with them all that had any connection to me. Drusilla…Angelus…Darla…The Master… All their endings have her mark on them, in one way or another. I’m grateful for Angelus, but…the rest…I’ve spent years hiding. And now, the witch has brought me here? Why? *

The witch stepped back, drifting out of sight. The killer of vampires stood in the doorway, then. He had expected to see hatred in her eyes. He expected to feel hatred. After all, she * was * the Slayer. But, he did not.

What he did feel, almost as if a great wave had crashed into him and swept him under its weight is something he did not expect. Not from a Slayer. Not from * this* Slayer.

From this Slayer, he felt kinship, and the reason for this sense of kinship was a surprise.

He saw grief. Gnawing, horrible grief that was so much like he remembered his Mary’s was, and the young Squire’s too, that sorrowful winter morn when innocence died at the hands of a madman and a monster. Her eyes seemed desperate. And somehow he knew that he was the hope she had a fingertip hold upon, though he was at a loss to explain why.

He was at a loss to explain why he felt anything but pure hatred for her, this killer. The one who had all but annihilated him, and others like him.

The Slayer let out a sigh, “Oh, thank God. I was starting to give up hope.”

His eyes narrowed. He was suspicious, and rightly so. She’d disrupted the balance. Threw the world into chaos. That was not something the universe forgave. His blood boiled with rage. It wasn’t something * he * would forgive.

She’d made him one of the last. Certainly, he was the last of Aurelius.

“I know you, you know,” he said menacingly, “and, I think you know what I am. I could kill you,” he whispered, “And I will. So, I know you know not to let me cross your threshold,” his head tilted to one side, and he saw a strange, warm, spark in the Slayer’s eyes. It was interesting, but he could not afford to be distracted. She had to pay for what she did, “if you wish to live,” he finished.

The Slayer sighed wearily, her shoulders slumped and she said, in a voice that sounded centuries older than her body seemed to be, “And when all this is over,” she gave a sad little smile, and her eyes had a far away light, “if…I’d be more than happy to go toe to toe with you. Believe me. But now, there’s something you should know.”

“And, what can you tell me?” he hissed, his throat raw with pain and anger, “What could I possibly say to a vampire slayer? Don’t invite me in. Do you not think I can draw you out?” Oscar challenged, “And, when I do, I will show you no pity…”

“Oh, please,” Buffy sighed, “We’re wasting time. This pissing contest is typical, but it’s a waste of time…” her voice trailed off, seemingly choked by the pain the vampire could see radiating from her, “And, he doesn’t have much left. I can feel it. Can’t you?”

Oscar blinked. He did feel it. There was something that drew him here. He didn’t know what it was, but he felt it tearing, squeezing his chest in a way that nothing had since he had to watch Mary grieve, knowing that he could never comfort her, could never see her again.

And it hurt.

“What do you mean?” he asked, biting his lip.

She gritted her teeth, her eyes flashing, “I mean,” Buffy said, her voice quavering, “that if you don’t stop posturing, and * trust * me, you really * could * be the last of the Aurelius line…”

Oscar remembered that vividly. Standing at the threshold of the little building on Jennings Street, the Synergy Dojo, brought it all back, and his throat tightened a little, and something fluttered in his stomach.

Liam would not awaken for some time. He did not expect to feel him stirring, feel his fledgling calling out to him, until, at the very latest, daybreak, and that was hours away.

Liam’s awakening was far enough away. And as Oscar stood at the door, poised to knock, he knew it was time for him to introduce himself to her.
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Buffy sighed. Spike was next to her, and he was sleeping. That made her unbelievably happy. She was curled tightly against him and she did not want to leave. Ever. Not that she could, had she wanted to, because, even in his sleep, Spike did not want to let her go, either. His arm was draped across her, in a seemingly haphazard, loose grip of sleep. It was anything but loose though; but Buffy didn’t mind. The slight ache in her side, the pinpoints of pressure that came from his fingertips, served as a reminder both that he was here, and of what he’d been through.

The puffs of unneeded air drifted over her skin. They sounded like purring. And, she was happy.

Until something else washed over her skin, raising her hackles, causing gooseflesh to break out all over her body. Something cold. Something alien, and unwanted- especially now.

“Damn,” Buffy whispered through gritted teeth, “just what I do not need!”

A vampire.

There was a knock at the door.

Wait. Do vampires knock? She answered her own question. Some do. Spike did, when he needed help…And, he can’t get in unless I let him in. So…

Buffy quietly, and not too easily, slipped out of Spike’s grasp, and went down the stairs to answer the door.

If he had a beating heart, Oscar felt sure it would be raging against his ribcage in an effort to escape his chest. He could hear the slight movements behind the door, the whispered curse that made him smile despite his better judgment, and he knew that she was behind this door.

The Slayer. Buffy. William’s…Spike’s wife.

As the door opened, the fire in her eyes left no doubt in Oscar’s mind. This was the one that William had loved, and it was easy to see why.

How could he not love her? She is so much like he…was. So full of life.

She looked him over. Small, skinny, not much to look at, really. But then, looks could be deceiving.

“Who are you,” she asked, curtly, “and, what do you want, here?”

“Slayer,” the redheaded vampire replied, “my name is Oscar Lendman,” his blue eyes looked down at his feet. He seemed nervous.

Well, duh, Buffy thought, standing on the Slayer’s doorstep isn’t exactly good for a vampire’s health.

“…And, I need your help,” Oscar said.